Sweet Disposition
by padfootseeker
Summary: The all too real story behind Harry's new tattoo; A Larry Stylinson Fanfiction for those who have asked, the tattoo reads: won't stop 'till we surrender


The first time was before anything else had happened, before he was fixed, before he broke, before he ever truly laughed or cried. It was during the first time that he began living.

It had happened just after they had been put together as a group, the five of them. He had brought them all to Holmes Chapel, to the bungalow that he had never brought anyone else before, to the place he and Gemma used to sit and watch movies late into the night, falling asleep on the couch beside one another, limbs intertwined, in the way only siblings can.

He hadn't really wanted to bring them there, but there had been nowhere else to go, Liam had pointed out, so they had arrived that morning, duffel bags and pillows in hand, chuckling softly at the awkwardness of spending a week alone with four relative strangers with nothing to fill the silence but their own voices. It hadn't been nearly as bad as he had expected, though they hadn't said much of anything with real substance to it. They had joked, there had been laughter and lots of splashing about in the small pool fully clothed, pushing for more room in the limited space consumed by the five teenage boys.

It had all been fine, with sunshine to soak up and iced tea to drink and cigarettes to smoke, yet as the sun slowly descended across the horizon, a slightly uneasy feeling arose within Harry. It was all too comfortable, all too familiar, and he could feel himself wanting to know more about the boys around him, wanting them to sit around this campfire with him every night, and knowing that if they did, his existence would be a happy one. He felt himself wanting to explain about his close relationship with his sister, about his parents' divorce and his utter terror at the very idea of live shows. He wanted them to know, and he had never wanted anyone to know before.

So he sat there, wrapped up in the arms of Louis Tomlinson, sharing a chair and sharing a lap, warmed more from the other boy's skin than from the fire before them, uneasy yet comfortable, nervous yet never happier. He snuggled into the other boy's neck, into the blanket wrapped around them, eyes drooping shut as he felt the stomach full of s'mores, Louis's breath on his, skin against skin, and heard the distant strumming of a guitar.

This was what life should be about. The company of friends, laughter always on the verge of bubbling, knowing that there was so much left unknown, yet that there was a lifetime to learn it.

Louis was laughing at something Niall had said, and Harry felt his chest rumble below him, startling him from his sedated reverie. Louis's hair tickled his forehead as he rested his head upon the other boy's curly one, and Harry smiled, leaning back onto the older boy's welcoming chest as Louis began to sing.

The first time he heard it, he knew it was much more than any other song. It was during the first time he heard it that he first considered anything, that he first gave in to what he already knew, that he had always known, that he first wondered whether he wanted all the boys to know, to understand, or just Louis. It was during the first time he heard it that he knew he would give anything to remain in those arms, to see nothing but that smile.

It was during the first time he heard it that when the pure notes emerged from Louis's pink lips, so close to his own, Harry was happy. It was only during the first time he heard it that he realized, their blood was still so young, that he could feel it running through his veins, pumping faster than it ever had before, faster even at the points where his skin touched Louis's and fire erupted. They still were so young, with a lifetime of singing together and laughing together and touching together ahead of them. It was during the first time that Harry woke up.

The second time, he was fully awake. He was alive, completely alive for the first time he could remember, and it was all thanks to Louis. Louis, with his hair of feathers and eyes of the ocean and skin of a God.

He had known for a long time by then, and he thought Louis did, too. They were living together, spending all of their time with the other, and in all honesty, Harry had never been happier than he was right then.

Louis did understand, he understood everything, and Harry loved it. He loved that with one look, the boy who had rapidly become his best friend, his brother, and something much more than anything else he had felt before, could tell that he was tired and didn't feel like cooking dinner, that he was tired and didn't feel like facing the fans, that all he needed was a hug from a friend. And even more than that, he loved that Louis always gave it to him.

They had been driving in Louis's car, Harry's comforter tucked around them because the heater had broken months ago, and even though they had rock paper scissored to see who would take the car into the shop and face the hoards of fans alone, Harry hadn't had the heart to make Louis go, and the small car remained freezing cold.

It was Christmas Eve, Louis's birthday, and they were headed for the Tomlinson household, ready to face the seemingly infinite sisters together, always together. His mum and Gemma had been angry when he first told them that he would be spending Christmas with Louis. It was his first away from home during the holiday, and he had been guilty, he still was, leaving them to have a much smaller celebration without him. But they were without him more often than not these days, and when he talked to Gemma on the phone last night, he knew that she understood. It was all worth it to not leave Louis's side, even for one weekend.

It had all been worth it for the look on his friend's face when he told him that he would be coming with him to celebrate their favorite holiday. Louis had run at him, exuding the very essence of happiness, tackling him onto the couch and covering him in kisses. Much too chaste kisses for Harry's taste.

* * *

The second time he heard the song, the he had been warm in a cold car, gripping Louis's hand between their seats, knowing that it was most likely not the safest way to drive, but not caring in the least. When it came on the radio, it was as if no time had passed. He still remembered all those words, from all those months ago, back in the bungalow when they had all made fun of him for not knowing it, when they had taught him and Louis hadn't said a word, just gripped his hand and sung along.

The second time, with their hands overlapping on the gear shift, Harry couldn't help but throw his head back and belt the lyrics he now knew well. Louis's smile was all the encouragement he needed, and they sped down the highway together, just like that. Hands grasped in a desperate hold between them, mouths open, eyes smiling, not caring if they hit the right notes or sang the right words or thought the right things. This was it. This was everything.

And as he sang, beside the only boy he wanted to be beside, all Harry thought was _I love you I love you I love you_, and for once he didn't care whether it was the right thought or the wrong thought. At least while he heard the song for the second time, it just was.

Their sudden energy ended with the last chords, but Harry's thoughts continued to churn, tumbling around in his head, because now, now it mattered. The moment was over, the moment in which it was all there, and now, well, now... Shit. Now he loved him.

"A moment of love," Harry whispered, staring intently at his friend. Because that's all it was, wasn't it? A singular moment, filled with the love that he wanted, he needed, to last. And they knew, for once it was out there, and everything was clear. They both knew, and there was nothing he could do to take any of it back.

"No," Louis smiled, shaking his head and taking his eyes off the road for a moment, removing his hand from Harry's desperate grasp and gripping his face lightly. "Not a moment, Harry. A lifetime."

The second time Harry heard it, a singular moment became everlasting, and he became, without a doubt, the happiest man in the world. All for a moment of love.

* * *

The third time he heard it was the night of the best sex of his life. It was the kind of sex that, rather than making him fall dead asleep after a fit of passion, kept him up all night, replaying it over and over. And over.

It was the same night that he sang, "Blow a kiss, blow a job," on stage in front of thousands of people, with millions more soon to find out tomorrow. They were getting more daring, he and Louis. It had been months, months since they started dating, since that car ride to Louis's mum's house for Christmas when it had been relatively official.

Harry was in love. He told Louis that every night, and he loved him every night. He loved when they just sat on the couch and watched movies until they fell asleep in each other's arms, he loved the way Louis's eyes fluttered as Harry kissed him, he loved the way he lit up whenever Harry surprised him with dinner. He loved the way Louis would hold him after a particularly big concert, the way he would massage Harry's head, eliciting an embarrassing amount of groans, the way he would play with his curls, twirling them among his fingers in an attempt to never be separated, the way his voice sounded when he said that word, "_love_", and he said it often, whenever he could.

"_Love_," he would call him from across the breakfast table, "_Lovely_," he would mutter whenever Harry sang, "_I love you_," he would whisper when Harry leaned over during an interview, brushing the hair out of his eyes in an attempt to stay sane, to stay grounded, to not leap up and declare his love for the boy beside him for all the world to hear.

Because it was getting increasingly difficult to control that urge. Harry loved him a lot. More than that, really, more than anything he could say, more than those three little words could contain. So much that it scared him sometimes.

The other boys were surprisingly accepting of it. They had known all along, Liam had told them, smiling in that way he did whenever he was proven right. Niall had groaned and tossed Liam a twenty. He wasn't betting against them or anything, he had whispered to Harry afterward. It was just that he never thought they would be able to admit it at all. Zayn had just shaken his head. And that had been that.

Management had not been nearly as accepting. They had threatened them time and time again, with being thrown out of the band, with dissolving the band completely if they ever voiced it to the public. Which had been fine, really it had, but Harry was in love, and he needed more ways to show it.

So he would change the lyrics, the lyrics that they hadn't even written themselves, made them his own, made them sing about love and lust and want and desire, and blowing kisses and blowing jobs, and everything he wanted, right then and there, from Louis, if only they had been able to tell their fans.

The third time he heard the song had been hours afterwards, after he had sat down on the couch with that smug smile on his face, Louis glaring at him with those eyes, clouded over with everything Harry felt himself, hating him for making him feel this way on stage, in front of the world, for causing him to question everything they had promised Management they wouldn't do, but loving him for it even more. Louis had reached over and placed his hand on Harry's knee, squeezing it tightly as the fingers of his other hand drifted up, ghosting over his upper thigh and causing Harry to shudder and quake. "Just you wait," he had whispered, right into his ear, breathing his hair aside. "Just you wait."

Jesus. Harry didn't remember the rest of the concert, he didn't hear the screaming of the fans, or the notes coming from any of their mouths, not even Louis. Just you wait, he had whispered, and wait Harry did.

Louis did even wait for Harry to walk through the door before he was on him, throwing him against it and pressing his lips desperately against the other's. Harry had gasped, had felt his pink lips, already chapped from singing all night, open automatically, inviting Louis's tongue in. He remembered every detail, the way Louis reached down and rid them of their shirts, their mouths parting for only a fraction of a second before he was back, all of him, holding Harry gently and exploring him roughly.

He was pressed against the door, held in place by Louis's hips, rubbing against him in a way that caused all of him to tremble, with no way to take any control, so he told him through their kiss. He poured in all of his love, all of his want, and Louis took it in. He had already known, and Harry knew he felt the same way, but he had to tell him. He couldn't bear being awake without telling him, without holding him, without wrapping his fingers in that feathered hair and desperately gripping, pulling his boyfriend closer and impossibly closer.

God, he didn't want to stop. He never wanted to stop. He didn't care what Management thought, if they got thrown out of the band, if their fanbase abandoned them completely. Anything, if he could just keep pulling Louis closer.

And when Louis reached down, and slowly, achingly, pulled down the zipper of his pants, slowly, achingly, unbuttoning them and freeing him in a way that was far too slow and aching for Harry's taste, he groaned into his boyfriend's mouth, mumbling something incoherent as he took Harry in his hand, pushing him onto the couch and smiling mischievously.

And then Louis tongue was dancing around him and he thought he wouldn't be able to hold himself up for one moment longer. Harry groaned, desperately searching for more more more more more, but knowing that all he wanted was this. It was when his lips finally encircled him that Harry lost it, as he always did. He was already shaking, trembling, and the sight of Louis's head bobbing along his length was enough, the suction on his lips on _him_ pulling him forward in any attempt to remain any fraction of sane.

"God, Lou, I'm going, I'm going to, Jesus, I'm going to come." But Louis only smiled, groaning against Harry, causing vibrations along his length, and that was it. Louis licked any remnants from his lips and kissed his way up, meeting Harry's exhausted lips, and it was only then that Harry realized that his boyfriend had somehow lost his clothes as well, that he held Louis close and swore to himself that nothing would ever make him let go.

And he didn't, not even when Louis sat up and led him into their bedroom, pulling him by the hand that would never _ever_ release its grip.

Suddenly, their movements were gentle, almost silent, not wanting to wake the other from their reverie of love and lust and life and awake. And when Harry kissed him, he knew that this was it. This was them. This was Louis, and he was, really and truly, all he wanted. This would be his life, forever, until death do them part, and somehow, impossibly, this made him happier yet.

The grin only widened when Louis slowly pushed his fingers into Harry, applying the necessary amounts of lube until Harry was begging for him, all of him, to be inside of him, closer, as close as they could get. And then, slowly, Louis was, Harry desperately pulling himself against the older boy, green eyes never leaving the blue ones, wanting only _him_, and all of him.

It wasn't that they had never had sex before, they had, and lots of it, but it was times like those that kept Harry up all night, holding Louis's naked body in his arms, and knowing that whatever happened, as long as he had Louis, everything would be fine, better than fine. Everything would be perfect.

"A dream, a laugh, a kiss, a cry," Louis cooed into his ear hours later, both of them still awake in each other's arms, bringing him back to that moment and every moment before that he had been absolutely, positively sure of his love for the boy beside him.

The third time Harry heard those words, the third time he was reminded of the song, he was blissfully happy, blissfully sure, but it would be one of the last.

* * *

Harry heard the song many times after that. He downloaded it the next morning, and played it often, in the kitchen while making dinner, on the guitar with the other boys singing along with him. He played it all the time, sang it under his breath as he walked down the street, when he drove to the recording studio, whenever Louis was by his side. It became almost an anthem of their love, and he soon lost count of the number of plays as they grew exponentially, marking each passing moment between the two.

It was getting harder, he knew that, or at least, he thought he did. Months passed, and with each passing day, "_I love you_"s were harder to come by, Management's overbearing presence was more noteworthy, and it was more likely that Louis was long asleep by the time Harry crept in and whispered goodnight, creeping under the covers so as not to wake the sleeping form beside him.

It wasn't that they didn't still love one another, of course they did, Harry was as sure of that as he had ever been, and he knew that his boyfriend's silences did not come about out of any lack of love. Or at least, he didn't think they did.

His love hadn't faded in the least, if anything, it had grown impossibly greater with every day he spent with the other boy, but it was hard. It was getting harder for him, too, harder to attempt to dissuade their fans that "Larry Stylinson" didn't exist, that it wouldn't ever exist, that he loved Louis dearly, but not ever like that. No, never like that.

They did as Management commanded, just as they always had, always with the same reluctant hesitancy, and he knew that Louis didn't like it any more that he did. The other boys could sense it, sense something bending, knew that Harry was praying every day that it would never snap, because he didn't know what would happen if it did. They, he and Louis, wouldn't end, he was sure of that. Or at least, he thought he was.

And then one day, it broke.

It snapped, just like that, with him coming out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist, after a shower, one he knew Louis would have joined him in only months before, and found his boyfriend just sitting there. Staring at him. Waiting. Harry still wasn't sure how he didn't know before then, how he hadn't even considered it for a moment, hadn't even thought about what would happened to him if it ever did, hadn't taken the necessary precautions so he wouldn't crumble in just the way that he did.

Maybe he had always known, and had simply never wanted to admit it, not even to himself.

Or maybe Louis had never quite loved him as much as he thought he had.

Either way, Lou had explained, with tears in his eyes, he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't, and it would be easier to just stop now, to stop before he broke completely, before they did something stupid and Management broke up the entire band.

And then the door had closed, and he was gone. Harry never knew just how long he stood there, shivering, but somehow, minutes, hours, days, later, he returned to consciousness to find that the towel had fallen and he was just there. Standing. Alone.

He wasn't sure if he would ever hear the song again.

* * *

Harry spent a lot of time on the couch after that, but he was rarely alone. He was always wrapped in a blanket, with Zayn or Liam or Niall sitting in a chair next to him, on his legs, or on the floor, holding his hand. Sometimes they watched TV, sometimes they talked, told him about everything he was missing out there, about how Simon was worried and Management would only hold out with the excuses for a little while longer.

Harry didn't particularly care, and he rarely listened. He simply wrapped himself up tighter and pulled his legs closer, never quite warm enough, never awake enough yet never sleeping, never eating yet never hungry, never embracing the loneliness of the whole thing but always feeling empty.

Sometimes he sang to himself, not knowing whether it was aloud or simply deep in the trenches of his own subconscious, but either way, he did. It was the only thing he could really focus on anymore.

They never mentioned Louis, not ever, but Harry thought about him. He thought about him a lot, all the time. He was sure that, for as long as he lived, Louis's ocean blue eyes would remain just behind his own lids, his face and his laugh and his love hovering all around him, that they would never truly leave him alone. And he was strangely sure that they had always been there, for all his life in the past, before even X Factor. It was oddly comforting.

Time passed, he wasn't sure how much of it. A lot, he assumed. Liam eventually forced him to drink water and to choke down a few bites of pasta. Niall was there when he stopped crying. He didn't make him laugh, but he took the credit anyway, even though Harry was sure it was more because he had run out of tears than anything else. Zayn just sat beside him, all the time, holding his hand and rarely saying anything at all. Harry wouldn't have listened anyway.

They thought he was healing, he knew that they did, because every once in a while they would slip Louis's name in, accidentally, until it started happening more and more and he knew they were being less careful. He didn't mind, he wanted to know how the older boy was doing, no matter how much it made him cringe, made his tear ducts ache from want of more tears to cry. The other boys noticed, he knew, but they didn't say anything. Nothing he heard, anyway.

It was months later that he heard the song again, this time from his own lips. It was then that Harry first considered that he was healing, always healing, yet never quite healed. Only Zayn was there, only Zayn was listening.

"I can't stop," Harry remembered telling his friend. "I can't fall out of love with him."

"I know," Zayn had responded, "I know, mate. I don't think he can quite do it either."

Harry had known that Zayn was only trying to make him feel better, but the knowledge that Louis was in pain as well, that he felt even a fraction of what Harry did, hurt more than anything else had.

"I won't stop," he had declared. "I won't stop until we surrender." It was from a live performance of the song, his favorite one, and he had seen a lot of them.

"I know, mate, I know."

It wasn't that night, but some night in the near future (he was still having trouble with differentiating time), that Zayn took him to the tattoo parlor, that he had it written beneath the star that had been an impulsive whim months before, one Louis had kissed countless times, one that he had once thought was sexy.

The needle had felt good, the pain was nice, it woke him up from the stupor he had been in for months before. It felt clean to be making the words permanent, to have something to show for all the moments he was sure, and all those he never would be again.

The song had become part of him.

* * *

After that, he returned to interviews, to rehearsals, to concerts and recording studios. Harry Styles was back among them, able to see Louis daily without flinching, visibly at least, but Harry wasn't really back. He didn't think he ever would be.

It was fine, he was surviving, and it was all fine. Days passed. Months passed. And everything was coated in a bland layer of _fine_.

It happened when they were swimming one day. They had done it before, in a boat off the coast of some island. He was aware, of course, that none of the other members had seen the tattoo, none but Zayn, and he didn't think the other boy had told any of them. He was aware, but he didn't care much, he didn't care whether it was private or public. He didn't care about all that much anymore.

They all noticed, he was sure from Liam's not-so-subtle glances, from Niall's shout and laugh, from Louis's sudden silences.

They hadn't talked much, not at all actually, since the incident months ago, he and Louis. It was hard, harder than he thought it would be to see him shirtless and not be able to take him into his arms and kiss every inch of the smooth, tanned skin. Harder than he thought it would be to recognize the hurt reflected in the eyes before him and not kiss it away. It was hard.

The tattoo had never been more true, he realized that day. He wouldn't stop, not ever. He would always love Louis Tomlinson, at least until he surrendered to whatever else would come. And he didn't think he would ever do that, he didn't think he would ever want to. So he would keep loving Louis, he would love him forever, and he wouldn't stop. Not for anything.

He probably should have been expecting it, when he heard the knock on his door later that day, after they had finished their swim in the ocean, one that was not nearly as playful and full of laughter as it once would have been. He had sensed the eyes on him all day, they had met his own more than once, in a way different than they had before. They weren't quite pained. Hurt, yet not pained, and they didn't stray, they didn't dart away as they often had in the past few months, upon realizing that Harry knew just where he was looking. The blue eyes were suddenly steady, waiting, ready, and he knew, the moment he heard the knock on his door, who it was and why he was there.

"I surrender," Louis had said, and Harry knew he should have been angry, he knew exactly how he should have felt, what he should have said, how he should have slammed the door in the face of that beautiful, perfect, boy, the one who had broken his heart, repaired it, and broken it one thousand times over. He knew that he never should have opened that door at all, but he had, and that beautiful, perfect boy had walked in, and... Harry really didn't have a say in what happened next, did he?

"I surrender," Louis had whispered, and Harry had melted. This was it. Was this it? There had been so many 'its' over the past years, he was hardly aware of whether he was asleep or awake, if he was even alive. He couldn't be, could it? This couldn't be it, this couldn't be real, this couldn't be Louis. And yet it was, and he melted, falling to the floor, legs unable to hold him up anymore, mind whirring, or at least attempting to whir. Thinking had always been difficult with Louis nearby.

"I surrender," Louis had declared, and as Harry's legs gave way, he reached out, stepped in, and caught him, holding up the form of the boy he would never stop loving, the boy to whom he surrendered everything, once and for all. Because Harry was right, they were all right, and he had been wrong all along. He couldn't stop loving him, and neither really had any choice in the matter.

"I surrender."

And as their lips reunited, Harry realized that he would never stop hearing the song.


End file.
